Page 69 of The Couple's Secret
“Well,” Gretchen said, running a hand through her hair. “We’re eating another juicy nothing burger.”
Josie stood up, stretching her arms over her head, and walked over to the window. The river had narrowed here, too, from the drought. The rocks, mud, and grass of its bed were exposed. Dry and brittle. Her cell phone chirped, and she took it out of her pocket, releasing a groan of frustration as she read the text from Noah.
I’m going to pay the balance on the venue. We only have a few hours left to do it.
Quickly, she tapped back:
We haven’t spoken to Wren about this yet.
Trinity called her yesterday and sold her on it pretty quickly.
Josie gritted her teeth. She didn’t know whether to be pissed at her sister for going behind her back or relieved that she no longer had to pitch the ceremony to Wren herself. She was both, actually.
Call Shannon. She said you need to have a final fitting for your dress. Also she wants me to buy you an anniversary band to go with your engagement ring.
A laugh that made her sound positively psychotic burst from her mouth. She typed: you have got to be fucking kidding me but then quickly deleted it. She did a minute of box breathing, happy as hell that Bruce Olsen was taking so long. Then she prepared a different response.
An anniversary band for our five-year anniversary? To go with an engagement ring that I never get to wear?
While Noah had chosen an understated—though gorgeous—engagement ring for her, it was not appropriate for work, which was where she spent most of her time. She only got to wear it if they were going out to dinner or to a party or some other event. Now she was even more protective of it since it had been stolen during Noah’s abduction and only recently returned to her by the state police.
She said it will give me something to slip onto your finger, Noah responded.
The thought of how much they’d already spent on this thing with her mother treating it like the royal wedding and not the simple, intimate ceremony she’d originally wanted made the acid in her stomach boil. They had Wren-related costs to worry about now, too. Those were far more important.
Josie’s thumbs punched against her screen at furious speed. Absolutely not. We cannot afford to spend that kind of money right now and it’s not necessary. This isn’t a wedding. It’s a vow renewal. Just wait till I get home and we can talk about all this.
Fine. I’ll just make the payment.
Did she really want to go through with this now? Did he? Trying another tactic, she messaged: We still haven’t discussed you getting help for your nightmares.
One has nothing to do with the other, he shot back. We can talk about that later. I’m paying the balance so we don’t lose the venue.
She quietly released a long stream of expletives. Under any other circumstances, she would call him and argue that last point. That he wasn’t in the right headspace to go through with the vow renewal. She’d guilt him into agreeing to see a therapist. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do that while in the middle of an interview. She couldn’t deal with any of this madness right now. Noah knew that. He’d probably waited until she was in Harrisburg for that very reason. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t even see his message until it was too late.
“Trouble?” Gretchen asked.
Josie resisted the urge to throw her phone onto the floor and stomp it into a thousand pieces. “Something like that. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
If fine meant having absolutely no control over your life anymore.
“I’m fine,” she repeated unnecessarily.
Gretchen knew her well enough not to push.
Taking a deep breath, Josie distracted herself by studying the photographs on the bookshelf. There were several of Olsen with a large family. Over fifteen people, from what looked to be his wife to several toddlers. Her eyes roved over the other frames, spotting photos of Olsen with at least three Pennsylvania governors, some taken while he was on Brighton Springs PD and one more recently. In a handful of pictures, he stood beside other men in suits, friends or business colleagues, most likely. Another showed him receiving a commendation of valor while still an officer. Then there was one of Olsen alone, several years younger, his white hair threaded with brown. Grinning broadly, he sat at a desk with a nameplate that identified him as a private investigator. Had this photo been taken to mark the occasion of him receiving his private investigator license? Hanging his shingle out? She leaned in closer. The desk he sat behind was different although like the one here, it was positioned so that a window was at Olsen’s back.
The view from it wasn’t all that crisp but it was enough to see part of the building beyond. Walkways. Exterior doors with numbers on them—just smudges from this distance—but everything was painted cream and sea-foam green.
Like the Majesty Motel.
Thirty-Seven
Josie’s fingers tingled as she picked up the photo. Studying it more closely, the details were unmistakable. She thought of the strip mall across the street from the motel. The one that had sagged like a strong wind might blow it down. A few of the storefronts were empty, abandoned. Based on this photo, Olsen’s first office had been in one of them. Josie walked back to her chair, sank into it, and handed Gretchen the frame.
It took her less than thirty seconds to see what Josie had seen. “Well,” she murmured. “Maybe this is a something burger after all.”
Excitement thrummed through Josie’s veins. This was the closest thing to a lead they’d had thus far. It could be nothing. A coincidence. But that’s not what her gut told her. Moments later, Olsen returned, a sheepish smile on his flushed face. “Sorry. Dealing with some stuff at home.”
